


Don't hold back

by bloodandcream



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Blow Jobs, Blow Jobs in a Car, Exhibitionism, M/M, Public Blow Jobs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-28
Updated: 2015-04-28
Packaged: 2018-03-26 03:46:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3835792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bloodandcream/pseuds/bloodandcream
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Impala slows and Dean turns off where the sign points. Sam smirks triumphantly. He might also be a little cranky because he wanted to get out of the damn car to sleep somewhere, anywhere, and get his brother horizontal. Dean’s been a goddam cocktease all day, wearing a pair of jeans that hasn’t fit for years cause their laundry bag is full of dirty clothes and they haven’t stopped anywhere for that either. All right, so Dean’s pants fit well enough to button but they pull tight and well-worn over his ass, riddled with holes down his bowed out thighs, and they scrunch up when he drives with his legs splayed putting his bulge on display. It’s not fair. Sam hates those jeans.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Don't hold back

The last street light Sam saw was miles and miles ago. They’re on a back country road that’s so back it doesn’t have lights, just a dark asphalt road under a dark cloudy sky with fields and forests sloping away. He’s too restless to sleep and it’s going on one a.m. but Dean didn’t want to stop to get a room. Said they didn’t have the money to cover it. But it’s a nice enough night to roll a blanket out on a field and sleep under the clouds. Or fold up in the backseat.

Really, if they don’t have money for a room why do they have money for gas just cause Dean wants to keep driving. Whatever. Sam yawns and shifts in his seat, arm hanging out the rolled down window as the chill wind whips through and eases the balmy summer air that’s sticky and itchy.

“M'hungry.”

Dean glances over, his jacket shucked and slung back across the seat, one hand on the steering wheel and the other hanging out the window. “We already had dinner.”

“Dean it’s like one o'clock, dinner was seven hours ago.”

“There’s snacks in the back.”

“Let’s stop somewhere, I wanna stretch my legs.”

Dean shrugs and taps his fingers against the wheel. “You seen anywhere for miles?”

They passed through a town maybe an hour ago, there were houses with their porch lights on and a small stretch of main street with window fronts all dark.

“M'hungry.”

“Heard you the first time Sammy.”

Sam’s stomach grumbles obligingly for him, and Dean rolls his eyes.

There’s a little glimmer of light way down the road, and as they roll up around a gentle curve Sam cranes his head up out the window to watch the flick flick of street lights passing overhead. Town coming up. Fences appear by the roadside, claimed land. Speed limit signs pop up. There’s a big wooden sign looming in the distance with an archaic light hanging over it, paint peeling and faded but it’s cheerful enough, declaring ‘Big Lou’s, 24 hr, hot coffee all day’.

The Impala slows and Dean turns off where the sign points. Sam smirks triumphantly. He might also be a little cranky because he wanted to get out of the damn car to sleep somewhere, anywhere, and get his brother horizontal. Dean’s been a goddam cocktease all day, wearing a pair of jeans that hasn’t fit for years cause their laundry bag is full of dirty clothes and they haven’t stopped anywhere for that either.

All right, so Dean’s pants fit well enough to button but they pull tight and well-worn over his ass, riddled with holes down his bowed out thighs, and they scrunch up when he drives with his legs splayed putting his bulge on display. It’s not fair. Sam hates those jeans.

He just wants something cold to drink and something to look at that’s not a field or his brother’s crotch.

Big Lou’s diner looks about as old and well taken care of as the sign for Big Lou’s diner.

Dean pulls up and turns the Impala off.

“Huh. Wasn’t expecting this place to still be standing, and actually be open.”

“Well, now we’re here, let’s get something to eat.”

“Yeah, sure, an’ I could use some company that’s not your ugly mug.”

“Whatever, jerk.”

“Bitch.”

The lot in front of the diner is dirt, heavy rutted, and there’s weeds creeping halfway up the building looking like they’re about to eat it. There are absolutely no other cars in sight, and Sam wonders if there’s anyone in there, if the waitresses or whoever just live there or something. It’s kind of eerie but there’s no palpable sense of danger. Just a dim bulb over the door that barely casts a shadow across the dirt lot.

The lights are on though, and a little bell tinkles cheerfully over the door when they push in. It’s a small joint, a few tables lined against the wall with the windows and a counter with swively stools stretching out along the other side. Dean and Sam both take seats at the counter, leaning over it to pick up menus when no one appears.

It’s a few minutes of Dean humming tunelessly and studying the grease smeared laminate while Sam weighs the risk of trying to order anything fresh here before an old lady appears behind the counter looking thoroughly unimpressed.

“C'n I help you boys?”

She has gray hair pulled back into a neat bun, scarlet lipstick that’s a little smeared in the corners, her nails long and yellow as she rests her hands on her ample hips, pink uniform dress ill fitting, and looks at them.

Dean beams at her. “I’d like a coke please, ma'am.”

She gives him a look to strip paint and glances over at Sam, “N'for you?”

“Just a water please.”

Sam and Dean watch her disappear into the back, the door squealing loudly on it’s hinges before it quiets again, just the hum of cicadas and they’re alone in this tiny relic of a diner with an old lady that clearly does not want to be there. Sam wonders if there’s any kind of cook here, or if she’s it.

Dean nudges his shoulder, leaning in to his space. “Hey, Sammy, I’m bored.”

“So?”

“Wanna play a game?”

“What kind of game?”

Dean turns to look at him, smiling wide and pretty like he does when he’s up to no good and he’s trying to disarm Sam.

Dean’s hand settles on his thigh, warm through the denim, squeezing firm before sliding up and cupping him. Sam bats at his arm but Dean doesn’t budge.

“Dean, I don’t want to play that kind of game.”

“I think you do.”

“Nu-uh.”

Dean squeezes, and okay maybe he’d be up for this kind of game in the back of the Impala or in a motel room behind locked doors but they’re in a diner sitting at the counter. And Sam’s dick is a little bitch cause it completely ignores him and decides that yes, yes it very much wants to play.

Dean’s palming him to hardness, one hand in his lap and the other resting on the counter looking for all the world like he’s not feeling up his little brother who’s blushing hot and trying to decide if he should just push Dean off his stool when the old lady comes out with their drinks. Sam damn near about jumps out of his own skin.

The old lady - Marlene according to her name tag - scowls at Sam’s twitchy behavior as she asks, “Y'all know what you want?”

Dean, still squeezing his cock through his jeans, just smiles so sweet and says, “Cheeseburger with bacon and fries please.”

Marlene doesn’t write anything down. There’s no one else here. She glances over to Sam and he’s clutching at the counter edge and remembers, oh yeah, he’s supposed to put an order in. “Uh, I’ll, cobb salad please.”

She blinks and turns around to disappear back in the kitchen.

Sam swats Dean’s shoulder and hisses, “Goddamit Dean.”

Dean just laughs, leans a little more over in to his space and tugs his jeans open, squirming a hand down to pull his cock out. Sam wiggles to help him, because honestly do they have anything better to do than get run out of a diner for indecency.

Slipping partway off his stool, coke forgotten on the counter where it’s sweating, Dean grips calloused fingers around him and grins, whispering, “You think you could be a little tease getting that popsicle at the gas station earlier, took fifteen fucking minutes to eat that thing, dribbling all down your arm being sloppy, you know I damn near drove the car off the road. You think you could do that without any payback, Sammy?”

Sam shudders because Dean knows how hard to squeeze, thumb rubbing against the underside of the head and up across the slit, slicking precome around.

“Jesus Dean are you serious? That’s what this is about? You’re the one wearing those stupid jeans all day.”

“You love these jeans.”

"They’re not fair.”

“Well I haven’t seen a laundromat anywhere.”

Sam whines in the back of this throat as Dean starts to jack him off slow. They can hear Marlene moving around in the back, hear the burger sizzling, a knife’s snicking chop chop through vegetables or something, but Dean just curls his hand tight around Sam’s cock and slides up, twist, down, up-twist-down. Neither of them have even taken a sip of their drinks yet. The counter is wet under the coke and water, ice cubes melting, and Sam’s burning hot enough he can feel a trickle of sweat rolling down his spine as he jerks his hips up off the stool into Dean’s fist.

The low thrum of arousal he’d been nursing all day is quick to harden in a tense knot in his stomach as Dean works him so, so close, and he’s hovering right there, vibrating, when Dean draws back. Sam is left reeling, near about falling off his stool, as Dean clasps his hands on the counter and sits up straight and smiles at Marlene pushing the swing door open with her wide hips.

Sam scrabbles, drawing close to the counter, erection still hanging out his pants and shit god anyone could walk in and his hands are shaking but he pulls the plate of sad wilted salad closer as Marlene sets it down, eyeing the two of them like they’re shady motherfuckers and they kind of are.

But she blissfully disappears back into the kitchen after setting down their food and frowning at their still full glasses.

Dean sniggers. Asshole. He grins and picks up his greasy cheeseburger and stuffs his face showing Sam just how much he can get in there - which is really, impressively a lot.

Asshole.

Sam half considers finishing the job and jerking off on Dean’s shoes. Instead he shoves his aching dick back in his jeans, leaving the fly open because he knows Dean’s not done, he’s not going to get off kind of easy with just a bad case of blue balls. He sulks and he shoves questionable salad in his face and he avoids the eggs because they’re looking a little green.

Dean wolfs down his burger and polishes off his fries in no time, gulping down half his coke and belching obscenely.

“Ew, Dean seriously. Gross.”

“Ain’t no one here to care about manners.”

“I care about manners.”

Dean doesn’t even reply to that, he slides off his stool and sinks to his knees and buries his face in Sam’s lap.

Sam’s fork clatters on to the counter. He was half turned in his stool, Dean wedged between his legs, back to the counter and that could not be comfortable but he was tugging Sam’s jeans down and going for it. Sam scooted back on his stool, turned a little more to the side and spread his legs, salad forgotten, one hand grasping the counter edge and the other gripping Dean’s short hair.

Dean’s mouth was probably the first vague fantasy fixation that Sam had ever jerked off to. And no matter how many times he sees it wrapped around his cock, he thinks he’ll have wet dreams about it forever. Sam grips into his hair and shoves, Dean gagging a little but his brow furrows in determination and he swallows, taking Sam in deeper.

Sam needs to keep a grip on the counter so he doesn’t fall off his stool. Regretfully, he takes his hand off Dean because he needs to bite his wrist or there’s no way Marlene won’t hear this. Dean uses all his best dirty tricks, one hand braced on Sam’s thigh for balance but the other is rolling his balls while Dean takes him almost to the base.

Sam’s whole body locks up when he hears the squeak of the hinges of the door. He sits up ramrod straight, pulls his arm out of his mouth and smacks it down on the counter with a livid ring of teeth mark in it all shiny from his spit. Oh god. He scrabbles for his fork like he just dropped it. Totally. Dean’s gone still, but he’s still got Sam’s cock in his mouth tongue rubbing all over it, and the asshole would probably be laughing if he weren’t stuffed.

Marlene walks up to the counter. “Where’d the other one go?”

“Uh - oh - he - to the, he went to the bathroom.”

She frowns, glances to the corner where a door with a 'men’s’ sign on it is.

“The pipes’r always loud, I didn’ hear nothin.”

Sam shrugs but he probably just looks like a spaz because he swears to god if Dean makes him come in front of this lady he’s going to kill that jerk. “He uh, well, he’s a nervous pee-er so, it might take him - ah god, shit - sorry, charlie horse, might uh, take him a minute.”

Marlene picks up Dean’s plate, empty but for a few streaks of ketchup, and glances at Sam’s.

“You done with that.”

“Yep I’m donethankyou.”

She grabs his plate too and leaves for the kitchen. When Sam glances down he swears Dean is smiling around his cock. Then he just sucks it further into his mouth with a tight wet slurp and Sam claps a hand over his mouth as he hunches over and comes down his brother’s throat.

Pulling off with a pop, Dean licks his shiny lips and crawls back up from under the counter. Sam sobs just a little and tucks himself back in his pants.

“You’re an asshole.”

“You know I’m the best big brother ever.”

“I’m getting you back for that.”

“Bring it on. ”

Sam groans as Marlene comes back out and sets a receipt slip on the counter. Dean smiles and pulls out his wallet and she’s glaring at him suspiciously cause yeah, definitely no sound of pipes. But he leaves a generous tip so she takes the money and disappears again.

Just as Sam and Dean are about to leave, the bell tinkles and a pot bellied man in a cap swaggers in and sits at the counter. The deed is already done but Sam’s stomach still swoops a little to think of getting caught sitting at some dirty diner counter with his brother between his knees. Dean waves at the other patron on their way on.

Sam’s loose limbed and giddy and didn’t mind his shirt sticking to him with sweat or his stomach still growling as he got back in to the Impala. Dean backed away from the diner and turned onto the street, heading back down this side street instead of going back to the other, but it wasn’t like they were heading anywhere in particular. Just roaming in between hunts.

The street lights flicked up the Impala’s dark hood and lit up Dean in soft yellow, light and shadow, light-shadow. He was splayed out like it was his kingdom, and it really kind of ways. Legs wide, elbow resting on the open window and holding the wheel light but steady, his other arm stretched across the back of the bench seat. He watched the road and Sam, all spread out, street lights flicking over him and Sam could see the hard line of his cock in his jeans cause yeah, it was Sam’s turn now.

Shuffling over on the seat, reaching a long arm out to rest on the top of Dean’s thigh, drape over the thick heat of his cock under those damn tight jeans, Dean curled his arm over Sam’s shoulder.

“Well don’t hold back now.”

Stretching out along the seat on his belly with his knees bent up, one elbow next to Dean’s thigh propping him up, he worked Dean’s jeans open with his free hand. Dean shifted and shimmied until Sam got his cock out, hard and twitching in his hand. Sam’d never really daydreamed about other guys’ cocks, but there was something about Dean that made him salivate. Every part of his brother was pretty, there were even a few freckles down his shaft. Sam gripped it loosely and slid his hand up the length a few times, relishing the heat, the solidity, of his brother here, like this, right now, just for him.

Dipping his head down, Sam took Dean’s cock in his mouth and sucked him slow and sweet and easy. Just like he knew Dean liked when he was driving, nothing fancy and no surprises. A steady climb, a gentle release, and Sam swallowed it all.

He hadn’t held back for years.


End file.
